


Two Finger Salute

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [35]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:12:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “You’re wearing my shirt,” Bryce says.“I mean,” Jared says. “It’s mine. Just because it has your name on it—”“You’rewearing my shirt,” Bryce says.“Wanna sign it?” Jared asks.Bryce swallows, and in hindsight, Jared probably should have expected what comes next.





	Two Finger Salute

The rest of Jared’s break from school kind of flies by, three games and three practices and a lame ass new year’s party at his aunt’s because Bryce is at a Flames one and even if he would be cool with Jared coming, there is definitely going to be way too much booze there for Jared’s parents to also be cool with it. Like, they’re cool with high school or team parties as long as Jared drinks responsibly, but a bunch of adults, including someone they specifically said Jared can’t be around when he’s drinking? Yeah, would not be happening.

Jared rings in the new year on the freezing back porch, a half glass of champagne his mom handed him close to midnight set on the railing as he texts Bryce, trying to figure out whether Bryce’s practically illegible texts are means he’s drunk or if he’s just imagining it, because they’re always illegible. Hell, for all Jared knows Bryce gets _better_ when he’s drunk. He can’t get worse.

When Jared’s not doing anything hockey related, including playing, practicing, and watching a bunch of games he might not usually have time to watch — he really only makes time for the Flames, and even then it can be hard — he’s getting ahead on school stuff, enduring a lecture after a cooking experiment goes wrong and he sets off not only the kitchen smoke detector, but every single one in the house, and finally spending his sweet, sweet gift card money. Jared forgot how great that part of Christmas was: guilt free shopping. 

Jared can’t quite let himself get a Marcus jersey. It’s like two-hundred and fifty bucks, which is pretty much exactly what he has in gift cards for Sport Chek, and while his gear and stuff is paid for by the Hitmen, so he doesn’t have to worry about that, it’d be smarter to invest that money in workout gear, maybe a new pair of sneakers. His are getting kind of tight. For all he’s been wishing for one last growth spurt, it’ll be a pain in the ass if he goes up a shoe size.

He lingers in the NHL branded section though, as he always does, scorning the Oilers stuff that’s somehow infiltrated his city and flicking through t-shirts, pausing when, between Richards and Casterley shirts, his fingers hit the number 94. 

He can’t make himself buy a Marcus jersey, but he can sure as shit fit a Marcus t-shirt into his budget. He’ll just get a cheaper pair of shoes.

*

It’s kind of awkward walking into Bryce’s place with the Flames logo on his chest, but that’s like, nothing compared to wearing Bryce’s name and number across his back. Weirdly the Flames shirt in general feels dorkier, though? Like it’d be less awkward if he was just wearing Bryce’s name. Jared doesn’t understand his own brain, honestly.

“Nice shirt,” Bryce says with a grin when Jared joins him on the couch, and Jared feels his cheeks heat. “You a fan or something?”

“Or something,” Jared says, and right, that’s why it feels weird. It’s one thing to like, date a Flame and support him, and it’s another thing to be a fan in general, and Jared was the second before he was the first. It’s still sort of strange marrying the two in his head. “You want something to drink?”

“I’ll take a water if you’re getting up,” Bryce says, and when Jared gets back from the kitchen with a bottle of water and a glass of OJ, Bryce is staring at him. 

“What?” Jared asks. 

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Bryce says.

“I mean,” Jared says. “It’s mine. Just because it has your name on it—”

“You’re _wearing my shirt_ ,” Bryce says.

“Wanna sign it?” Jared asks.

Bryce swallows, and in hindsight, Jared probably should have expected what comes next.

He doesn’t get to drink his OJ, which is kind of a shame, since he was thirsty. What’s less of a shame is getting the best fucking head of his entire life. Bryce keeps setting the bar and then smashing right through it, and Jared is officially spoiled for sex with anyone else. Not that he wants to have sex with anyone else, but goddamn.

Jared keeps his shirt on, even though it feels a little strange to wear it with his pants kicked off the end of the bed, because he has a feeling Bryce would protest if he tried to take it off. Also weird, after, bare-assed but still wearing it, Bryce naked beside him. Still, he doesn’t feel the need to take it off. Maybe go grab his underwear — but like. In a minute. It can wait.

“You know I could have gotten you a jersey if you asked,” Bryce says, stroking a hand down Jared’s back, slow. Jared thinks he might be tracing the shape of the nine, from the vague pattern he feels through the cotton. “I wanted to get you one for Christmas, I just wasn’t sure if you’d think I was like, an arrogant douchebag or something.”

“I mean—” Jared says.

“Hey!” Bryce says.

“If you got me any more for Christmas I would have had like, a total nervous breakdown,” Jared says.

“It wouldn’t have even cost me anything,” Bryce argues. “I kind of wear them all the time. Screw it, I’m getting you one.”

“Shirsey’s not good enough for you?” Jared says.

“No, it’s great,” Bryce says. “But like. I like the idea of you wearing my jersey.”

“Kind of got that, there,” Jared says. “Are you trying to like, train me into Pavlovian reactions or something?”

Bryce blinks. “Like the dog thing?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jared says. “Wear your name, receive the world’s most enthusiastic blowjob?”

“I mean,” Bryce says. “If you wanna—”

That actually sounds like a pretty good deal to Jared. He already kind of — he’s not going to tell Bryce this because it sounds sad and mushy, but putting the shirt on felt right. Like he was wearing a secret for everyone to see but no one to guess at, a declaration in the form of Bryce’s name literally stretched across his back. Add the fact that Bryce seems to really like it and Jared has seriously never seen him more into giving a blowjob — and past experience provides some stiff (hah) competition — and it’s a win-win situation for him.

“It is so cliche to want to fuck someone while they’re wearing your name,” Jared says.

“I always want to fuck you,” Bryce says.

“Fair,” Jared says, because it’s not like he’s been hiding that or anything. Feeling’s pretty much mutual. 

“I do, though,” Bryce says. “Want to fuck you. Like, whether you’re wearing my name or not.”

“You just said that,” Jared says.

“No, I mean—” Bryce says. “You know.”

“Oh,” Jared says. “But isn’t that like, pretty gay or something?” 

“I mean,” Bryce says. “I kind of am, though.”

Jared grins at him, because that’s like, progress. He didn’t even hesitate.

“We could,” Jared says. “If you want.”

“Like, now?” Bryce says. “You’ve got a game tomorrow, I don’t wanna—”

“Not now,” Jared says. “Probably something we should like, work up to anyway? I mean, I’ve never taken more than a couple fingers, so.”

“When?” Bryce asks, and the look on his face is less like, ‘hey, did you finger yourself in the shower this morning’ and more ‘who the fuck did you do that with’, which is so ridiculous Jared can’t even with him.

“Bryce, you were literally my first kiss, which you _know_ ,” Jared says. “Do I really seem like the kind of dude who’d let someone finger me without at least making out first?”

“No,” Bryce says, looking kind of sheepish, then, “So like, to yourself, then? That’s so hot.”

“Pretty gay, though,” Jared says.

“You’re never going to let me forget about that, are you,” Bryce says.

“Dude, you literally told me it was pretty gay to get fingered while you had fucking come breath,” Jared says.

“Shut up,” Bryce mumbles. “It made sense in my head.”

“You’ve seriously never even tried on yourself?” Jared asks.

“No,” Bryce says. “It seemed—”

“Gay?” Jared asks.

“Weird,” Bryce says defensively. “I dunno.”

“I mean, I can’t guarantee you’ll like it or anything, some guys don’t,” Jared says. “But like, if you wanted to try—”

“I kind of want to try everything with you,” Bryce says. “I’m just like—”

Self-conscious, Jared can finish for him, because he looks it right now.

“We can work up to it,” Jared says. “You know you don’t have to worry about me, like, judging you or laughing at you or anything.”

“You do that all the time,” Bryce counters.

Touche.

“About this, I mean,” Jared says.

“I know,” Bryce says. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“Plus like, damn, your ass,” Jared says. “It’s a crime to leave it untapped.”

“Untapped?” Bryce says. “What?”

“Like, untapped?” Jared says. “Tap dat ass?”

Bryce snorts. “You’re so lame.”

“Okay, you do not get to be calling me the lame one,” Jared says.

“Just saying what’s true,” Bryce says, and for that, Jared has to start a wrestling match he inevitably fucking loses. He thinks it was closer this time though. Him managing to cram some time in the weight room alongside everything else in his packed schedule is paying dividends. One day Bryce is going to lose.

*

Jared’s supposed to be doing homework. Like, absolutely 100% needs to be doing homework, but instead, after school, he finds himself makeshift barricading his door, kicking most of his clothes off, and crawling into bed. It’s Bryce’s fault. All day Jared’s been zoning out, thinking about what he mentioned, and it’s — a lot. Thinking about Bryce is always a lot, and Bryce talking about fucking him ratcheted that up to the level of ‘impossible not to get distracted’. Jared doesn’t think he absorbed a single word during English.

 _Thinking about what we talked about yesterday_ Jared texts Bryce.

 _????_ Bryce texts back, because of course Jared has a boyfriend too oblivious for sexting.

Jared’s not stupid enough to send him a selfie or anything — the last thing Bryce needs is an additional arrest for having pictures of a minor or some shit on his phone. Totally legal for Bryce to fuck him, just not to get a picture of him naked. Ridiculous, but then, even if Jared was dating another seventeen year old it’d be the same, so.

He can’t even really be that explicit. Like, he has this absolute horrible image of his dad looking at his texts and recoiling or something. Not that sexts would technically be worse than literally catching Jared with a hand down Bryce’s pants, but it’s not a good scenario regardless. Plus, like, hockey dudes prank. Phones are not off limits there at all. The last thing Jared wants is some Flame reading a text chain that’s clearly from a dude.

So he can’t text like, ‘the gay thing’, even though it’d clue Bryce in pretty quick, or like, something a little more explicit in image form, which he probably wouldn’t be able to bring himself to do even if he was eighteen. Jared’s heard enough horror stories about that shit getting leaked. Bryce would never do that, but phones aren’t as secure as people all seem to trust them to be.

Jared considers while kicking off his boxers, glancing over at the door to double check his desk chair is firmly under the handle.

 _The two finger thing_ , Jared lands on, because it sounds like he could be referring to anything, and he thinks — he _hopes_ — Bryce isn’t too oblivious to pick up on that.

 _me too_ Bryce texts back almost instantly.

 _You out right now?_ Jared texts, and then, to Bryce’s ‘ya’, _Too bad, gonna get some practice in, guess you can’t watch_

 _ur fuckin evil_ , Bryce sends, along with a ton of frowny faces, and Jared laughs, maybe a _little_ evilly, before dropping his phone on the bed beside him and reaching in for the lube he hid behind a bunch of junk in the drawer his bedside table and like. Practice is important. None of that ‘makes perfect’ shit, just makes it routine, instinct. Not that he wants it to be routine, but frankly, nothing with Bryce is, no matter how many times they do it, so he’s not really worried about that.

Jared manages to get some practice in _and_ work out a little of the frustration he’s been dealing with all day — easy to combine the tasks when the practice itself is the root of the frustration — and he’s just about gotten over his post-orgasm laziness enough to grab some tissues from beside the bed when Bryce calls him. 

“I was sitting across from _Burns_ when you sent me that,” he says. “You got me hard in front of _Burns_.”

Jared grimaces. That’s a little more evil than Jared actually meant to be; Burns scares the shit out of him, and he isn’t even Jared’s coach.

“And I didn’t even get to _see_ ,” Bryce says. “Seriously, you’re so mean.”

“Maybe next time I’ll let you watch in person,” Jared says, his mouth and his dick running ahead of his self-consciousness, apparently. 

“I _just_ finally got soft,” Bryce complains. “And I have to get back out there like, right now. I actually hate you.”

“Yeah, I gotta go too,” Jared says. “If I don’t clean the come off my stomach soon it’s going to get all gross.”

“Hate you!” Bryce repeats, and Jared grins and takes it as a compliment.


End file.
